


Come Fly the Friendly Skies

by TearoomSaloon



Series: Airline AU [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Airlines AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Oh my god there isn't a tag for this already, This is set in the early 1960s, UST, is this a spy au? is it all a hoax? you decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17819279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/TearoomSaloon
Summary: She's a stewardess, he's a frequent flying enigma. It's not her fault she's curious about the mysterious man in the meticulously tailored suits.





	Come Fly the Friendly Skies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makonnaise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makonnaise/gifts).



> I know that's United's slogan, don't @ me, Pan Am's is just not a good fit for a title.
> 
>  
> 
> For Mako, who's put up with my whiny, procrastinating ass for over a year now.
> 
>  
> 
> The artwork belongs to @lilithsaur and @makopls and has been used with permission.

 

She could still feel the sticky saltiness of the Mediterranean on her skin if she closed her eyes. It had only been a matter of hours since she’d been under the sun in Greece, the warm glow replaced with the cool, dull hum of halogens. The lights reflected off the windows, blocking out the view of Frankfurt beyond the long strips of runway. As much as she loved travel, the constant hustle of it became wearisome quickly.

This was her normal route, Frankfurt to John F. Kennedy and back again. It was one of Pan Am’s more flown routes, one all the girls seemed to start on. She’d have to be with the company a few more years before she got more exciting destinations, like Honolulu, or Haneda. For now, though, she was on the West German circuit. Which wouldn’t be the worst, except—

“I see your boyfriend’s on this flight,” Paige teased, elbowing Rey as they went by the passengers waiting to board.

Dark hair, meticulously lint-rolled suit, murder in his eyes.

Her least favorite person of all time.

“You’ve cursed me, you know that,” she bit out at Paige. “If you hadn’t said anything he’d have disappeared.”

Paige shrugged. “Not my fault I pointed him out.”

It was.

She’d have never noticed the constant familiar face on the upper deck. He was there are least once every week and a half, sometimes more. Always with a grimace, always with a newspaper. He seemed to be keeping tabs on news about East Berlin (his papers were usually in German), but when he spoke, he sounded like an American. Didn’t come off as a politician. Every once in a while he was with another equally well-dressed man. Never the same one, and the conversations never seemed anything beyond business.

“Rey, are you coming?”

Paige was ahead of her, her luggage already stowed and making towards the stairs.

Right. She was working. Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in thoughts.

He was alone for this flight, unfortunately. Company was a buffer between her and his scathing comments. She had dealt with a fair amount of annoying and rude passengers, but he always seemed to outdo the regular class of obnoxious. It must have been something in the way he sized her up the way someone picked between the two worst kids for their dodgeball team. 

He watched her as she poured his regular gin and tonic, eyes sharp, hawklike. She had no idea why anyone wanted to  _ drink _ on a red-eye flight. His paper was in Czech today, accented letters printed below a large photograph and what she assumed was a sensational heading. She hadn’t figured out what kind of business he worked for, or what industry could possibly have him traveling back and forth so frequently. It was rare not to see him. Rare not to—

“Careful.”

She stopped pouring. That was way too much gin. Fuck.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Apologies.” She dumped half into another glass and filled the remainder with tonic and stuck a lime wedge on the rim. He eyed her suspiciously as she set it on the table, brow nit. “Will that be all?”

“For now. Don’t wander too far, though.”

She’d wander as far as she damn well liked.

Paige was downstairs in the small crew area with a book. She served the economy class, who didn’t have quite the same demands as the upstairs, nor the luxuries. She gave Rey a smirk. “So, how is he today?”

“Terrible, as usual.”

“Any idea what he does? Like, have you even tried to figure out why he’s flying all the time?”

“Not my business.”

“Oh come  _ on _ Rey, I know you’re curious.”

Was she? Yes. Would she ask? Never.

“Listen, you snoop, or I do.”

“You think he’ll tell you? All he does it make snide comments at me, I doubt you’ll have any more luck.”

“I can ask.” She leaned against the cabinets. “I’ll make a deal. If you find out what he does, I’ll buy drinks next time we’ve got a night off. If you don’t ask, you buy.”

“That’s a bribe, not a deal.”

“Whatever. Are you in, or are you chicken?”

“I’m not—”

“Good, shake on it.”

“We haven’t even discussed how long I have!”

“Uh, until we land?”

“More time.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Fine. Three flights. This, and two more.”

Rey bit her lip. “Deal.”

He didn’t usually sleep on these flights, if memory served. That wasn’t too strange on Transatlantic flights, but leaving late at night and landing early enough to get to work, she’d have thought most of the business travelers would try to get a few hours. Not him. No, he just produced more newspapers out of thin air and sucked down cup after cup of coffee. Sometimes he had a notebook with him, but she never recognized the language in it, and he never let her get more than a fleeting glance.

“Try not to burn it next time,” he said as she poured the ends of the coffee pot into his mug.

“I didn’t burn it.”

“No? Then your beans are pretty terrible. I thought Pan Am was suppose to deliver world-class service?”

“As you’ve probably guessed, I’m not the one who sources our coffee. Write a complaint to corporate if you want.”

“Like they’d be able to get their heads out of their asses long enough to figure out what good coffee is. Next time I’ll bring my own. Might even let you try it so you don’t fuck up again.”

Ass.

“And miss?”

“Rey.”

“Right, you’ve introduced yourself so many times, how could I forget?” His tone was condescending, expression bored. “Do try not to scowl so, it would be a pity if you got frown lines so young.”

She retreated to the bar to glare at him, not that he’d look up from his paper long enough to notice. Maybe she should just concede early, it’s not like she’d be making any progress. How could she, when he was so obstinate? She could snoop, probably. Or pester. Or be as condescending, but, really, how well would that go over? 

Or she could just chicken out and do the bare minimum. She didn’t have the bubbly personality for schmoozing with passengers, nor the sort of fiery determination as Paige when it came to cracking men open like chestnuts. Besides, she was convinced even Paige wouldn’t have been able to get under his skin. At least, not without a needle in hand.

He was on a return flight to Frankfurt exactly a week later, right on time. He put a bag of coffee beans on the bar in front of her once they’d taken off. She looked from the fancy branding and back up to his cold, almost expressionless face.

“Arabica. I have a grinder, too, if your kitchen lacks another essential.”

She eyed him before taking the beans and descending to the larger galley. Paige wrinkled her nose and smirked. Rey had to go back up for his grinder ten minutes later. Turns out, no, they did not fresh grind. Everything was instant. She brought the grounds up and prepared the rest of the pot under his scrutinizing gaze. Somehow, she was certain she’d fucked this up too. He approached before she could pour any.

“Try it first yourself. The difference is noticeable.”

Eyebrow arched, she did. And it was. “I don’t think I’ve had anything like this.”

“I doubt they serve you anything better than Maxwell House.”

She shook her head. “No, they don’t. Thank you Mr.…”

“Solo.”

“Mr. Solo. I appreciate it.”

He nodded once, curtly, and returned to his seat mug in hand.

She tried not to hover now that some civility had been exchanged. He motioned for her once or twice to refill his cup, but was otherwise withdrawn into his work. The newspapers on the table before him were in Polish today, and she had to wonder how he was getting them from the Soviet Bloc, especially in the US. Wasn’t that the sort of thing that would get you labeled a spy? Or at least a Commie?

“You must speak many languages, Mr. Solo,” she commented when she brought him the fourth coffee.

“Several. You stewardesses are expected to know more than one, aren’t you?”

“I can understand German, Italian, and a little French, but my reading is poor.”

“I’d work on that if I were you. Better to know your news sources if you can read them.” He folded his paper and moved it to the seat beside him. “Might come in handy with the way the world is now.”

“Are you offering to help?”

“Bold assumption to make, and I’m curious why you’re making it.”

“You can read German and you’re lecturing a random stewardess about the importance of reading languages like German.”

He laughed.

She’d never expected to hear him laugh.

It was a deep sound that got higher at the end, genuine, almost contagious. He smiled and it was, if she were being honest and unbiased, a good smile, one that reached his eyes. But she was supposed to dislike him for all his snobbery, so she tried to stamp the observation out.

“Fine. You catch me on my way back from Frankfurt and I’ll give you some pointers.”

“Is that a promise?”

“As much as a promise I’ll make.”

 

Paige seemed unimpressed by the information she’d recovered. “So he speaks a few Slavic languages, big deal.”

“He’s American.”

“And? I was under the impression most Americans spoke more than just English.”

She pulled Paige closer to the wall as they walked to their hotel room. “What if he’s a Soviet spy?”

“...Because he speaks German?”

“And is always flying back and forth from Frankfurt to New York. Wouldn’t that explain something?”

“Might explain you’re a bit mental.”

“Come  _ on _ ,” Rey sighed, exasperated. “It would be a much better story than him being some oil tycoon. He could be an arms dealer.”

“That is just as unlikely. Think logically, maybe he’s just visiting family.”

“Weekly?”

Paige frowned. “Fine, yeah, that doesn’t make much sense either. Maybe you could ask him next time, instead of chickening out again.”

“And how should I best do that? Oh, Mr. Solo, you seem to be very interested in Germany, do you happen to be a Soviet spy, by any chance?”

She laughed. “Not like that!”

“I’d get hanged for that, if it were true. Or tortured.”

“But he’s not, he’s one-hundred percent not a spy. Why would he be traveling commercial? Don’t they get fancy jets with those evil fluffy cats and expensive champagne.”

“He did bring his own coffee this time.”

“I still cannot believe that happened. Next time you should charge him a service fee.”

“I should. I wonder if that’s allowed?”

“Who knows. Not like anyone would ask.”

 

It was two weeks this time before he was back on a flight to JFK. He looked more haggard this time, tired, sleepless. Still, he gave her coffee beans and she saw to brewing a pot. He had several newspapers this time, along with a journal and a few loose pages of handwritten notes.

“Does work have you tied up, Mr. Solo?”

“That’s not even the half of it.” He accepted the coffee with a small thank you. “It’s an endless, thankless job.”

“What is it you do, exactly?”

He gave her an odd look. “I’m a trader of sorts.”

“Like securities?”

Frowning, he nodded. “You could say that, yes. The market’s always volatile, especially now.”

“Do you enjoy what you do?”

“Immensely, when it doesn’t have me up for days on end. And you, do you like being a stewardess?”

“When I get enough sleep.” She leaned against the empty seat across from him. “I get to see all these places I otherwise wouldn’t. But it makes it hard to really stay anywhere, or meet anyone.”

“Ah. My line of work is lonely too. Late nights. Lots of travel, as you’re aware.”

“No wife waiting at home?”

He chuckled. “No. I’m not even sure which country home is in.”

“Do you find yourself in America or West Germany more?”

“Depends on the week, usually. I have apartments in both places, but Germany has always felt colder than the US. Where do you find yourself?”

“New York. I’m based out of JFK. It’s definitely been a big change from England, but I like it when it’s not bloody cold.”

“It’s the wind that really gets you.”

She paused, suddenly aware he was being jovial with her. Her cheeks felt a little flushed. “Well, Mr. Solo—”

“Ben. Ben is fine.”

“Ben. Will that be all for now?”

“Yes, thank you. If you’re not busy on your break, I could teach you a bit of German.”

“I’d like that.”

There was that blinding smile again. “Great. I look forward to it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, I'm going to be bribed to write for more in this universe.


End file.
